


More Trouble Than It's Worth

by SouthernMoonshine



Category: Cal Leandros - Rob Thurman, Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Gen, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:21:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24800767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernMoonshine/pseuds/SouthernMoonshine
Summary: Sam and Dean run into Cal and Niko. Nobody trusts anybody, collapsed lungs are fixed, and in a shocking twist, we all leave without stabbing eachother. Much. Once. Look, he's helping, okay, it's permissible.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	More Trouble Than It's Worth

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any of these characters, the TV show Supernatural, or the Cal Leandros book series by Rob Thurman. I'm just here to have fun and do bad crossovers.

It all started when Dean sneezed.

Looking back, Sam would think it was the most _preposterous_ start to all of this.

In the beginning it had been nothing, really. A regular job. Haunts in the old abandoned warehouse. New York, New York. Cheap roach motel, research on the place, cheap chili dogs and the ceaseless hustle and bustle of the city. Dean thrived on it - Sam was tired by all the rush. The warehouse was on the outskirts near the docks, in a very rundown area. Out they went, armed and ready with holy water, silver bullets, and plenty of salt. A dusty old warehouse that reeked of dead flesh and decay, and crude gang-signs and religious blasphemies spray-painted on the outside.

Sam flanked Dean, flashlight skimming over the dusty floor. A lump of rags made his heart jump in anticipation but he decided it wasn't moving.

Dean kicked a cardboard box and sneezed.

The heap of rags rose up and grabbed him by the leg.

Dean did what anyone would do when grabbed by a rag-clothed rotting corpse: he screamed like a little girl and shot it in the face three times.

The bloated face exploded into a spray of black blood and Sam choked on the rancid stench. The shadows shifted and _holy shit_ why were zombies never slow? Sam whirled and shot the reaching corpse in the chest. It staggered and kept coming. Changing tactics, Sam shot it in the head, and that dropped it. Okay, good, looked like regular bullets worked. Hot damn.

Sam kept his back to Dean and shot steady, gunshots ringing loudly in the small space. "Headshots!" he shouted.

"I know!" Dean shouted back.

There were at least a dozen...where were they all _coming_ from? Sam shot two more in rapid succession.

Dean made a startled sound; heavy impact of body on body. Sam whirled, flashlight dancing madly, and glimpsed something hairy and _big_ throwing Dean across the room. Dean hit a support pillar and tumbled to the ground. "DEAN!" Sam shot at the thing.

Werewolf. It jumped out of the way and grinned at him, human mouth distended by canine fangs. It lunged at him. Sam tried to shoot it but then he was flung through the air. He crashed into a stack of rotten pallets and crunched to a stinging landing. He gasped for breath, winded, and scrambled after his gun. He heard gunshots; in the light of Dean's dropped flashlight he could see his brother up on one knee, shooting. A corpse grabbed his ankle and Sam kicked at it, rolling out of the splintery mess. Gun, gun, gun....

A dark shadow stepped into the light of his dropped flashlight and a muffled gunshot barked. The dead thing dropped. The pale-faced man sneered at Sam. "Goddamn, you can't even handle revenants? Amateurs."

Sam whirled to look for Dean. The werewolf lunged, and a second dark shadow _materialized_ between them, a matte-black blade darting out. The werewolf howled and leapt back, red blood gushing. Dean scrambled to his feet and took a shot; the werewolf lunged again and Dean was once more flung through the air. He hit a boarded-up window and tumbled through. Sam shouted for his brother and ran, tripping over a corpse, thankful they were only on the ground story Dean Dean Dean....

Dean lying in the wreckage and coughing weakly in a way that meant he'd gotten the breath knocked out of him. "Dean!"

Dean coughed again and gave him a thumbs-up. Sam extracted himself from the window and turned. The fight had been going on while he'd not been looking. He was just in time to see the man who'd rescued him slam into a concrete support; the second man, in a long grey trench-coat, darted in with the long blade and the werewolf went down. The man flicked his sword and moved to his partner's side. "Okay?"

"Takes more 'n that to put me down, Nik." The dark-haired man sat up, and wobbled. "Ow."

The man with the trenchcoat crouched - his hair was long and pale blonde, almost glowing in the dark. Sam wondered how he'd first missed it, as he moved to pick up his flashlight and his gun. He listened to the low murmur of voices, and when he finally found his Taurus and started looking for Dean's Colt, the two were on their feet again, though the dark-haired one was leaning on the other.

"I believe this is the gun you're looking for," the blonde swordsman said, his voice a deep baritone. He toed Dean's gun with his boot.

"Yeah, uh, thanks." Same came forward cautiously. "You, ah, is he alright?"

"Yes," they answered, as one. They exchanged looks; Sam realized they were brothers, or otherwise closely related. Their eyes were both pure grey, clear and hard.

"And your...partner?" the blonde man asked, coolly, politely.

"He's okay. Thanks." Sam scooped up the 1911 Colt and automatically checked it. Loaded and ready. He went after Dean's flashlight. He nodded a little awkwardly to the brothers and went back to the window. "Dean?"

"Yeah Sammy?" Dean grunted. He was on his feet, combing glass and splinters from his short hair with one hand. His other hand was held against his side. Sam frowned and swung himself out the window, careful of the broken glass

"You hurt?"

"Broke some ribs somewhere," Dean left off the grooming to get his gun. He holstered it after checking it over. "Damn. Who were those bastards?"

"The one called them revenants..."

"No, Sammy, samurai-wannabe and his sidekick." Dean shook his head and moved towards the window, peering in again. Before Sam could answer, Dean was hollering. "Hey! You guys hunters?" He grimaced and pressed both hands over his side, throat and chest tensing as he fought off the urge to cough.

"You could say so," said the blonde answered, peering out the window. Neither he nor his brother were making easy targets of themselves, Sam suddenly realized, as they stayed back in the shadows. "You should take more care. This is Kin territory."

"Aw, Nik, do you have to warn them?" the darker-haired one grumbled.

The blonde gave a look that made Sam flinch, then want to laugh at himself when he realized why; classical older brother disapproval. Dean had given him that look before, more often when he'd been younger.

Dean, who was suddenly leaning forward a little, lips pinched. Sam turned to him with alarm. "Dean?"

"It's good," Dean retorted, straightening again, but it was with an effort and Sam felt anxiety stab into him. Hospital, worst-case, maybe the free clinic.

"Take a deep breath," the blonde said, suddenly.

"What the hell does--" Dean had to break off as without a sound the blonde lofted out the window. He landed noiselessly and Sam and Dean both drew on him. He looked at them calmly in the thin winter sunshine; a strong Roman nose and clean, classical features. His skin was olive-toned and made a surprising darker contrast against his pale blonde hair. His grey eyes were clear and fearless, calm masking his face.

"Weapons down. Can you take a deep breath?" the man asked, unperturbed.

"I'm fine," Dean spat, and coughed. It was an ugly wet sound and Sam paled when he saw blood on Dean's lip.

"Dean!" Sam looked at the man. "You know what's wrong? Can you help?"

"Sam, lay off," Dean growled.

"I can," the man answered. "If you'll let me."

Sam wavered, then lowered his gun. "Help him. Please. I'm Sam. This's Dean."

"Bitch," Dean tossed at him.

"Jerk," Sam retorted, and moved to his side, pressing down on Dean's raised arm. "Let him, okay?"

Dean grumbled but angled his gun down.

"My name is Niko," the blonde said, moving closer silently. He displayed empty hands; the double rows of beads on his wrist clicked together with a metallic sound. His hands were broad and well-worn with callous. Dean shifted uneasily but Niko stepped closer decisively and felt over his ribs. Dean grunted and tensed, fingers blanching over the grip of his Colt.

"Broken ribs. Most likely a punctured lung," Niko concluded, stepping back, still holding his hands open and free.

Behind him, the dark-haired man dropped from the window, landing in a deep crouch and staying there for a few minutes. Sam wondered if he was injured, too. Dean was stepping back, warily. "Nice. C'mon, Sammy, let's go."

"Yeah, uh...thanks..." Sam nodded to them both, holstering his gun. Dean did no such thing and kept casting the evil eye over his shoulder.

They rounded the building and Sam looked at Dean. "Hospital."

Dean made a face but he didn't argue. Sam realized with deep alarm that Dean was probably feeling worse than he was letting on. He didn't hustle but he wanted to, wanted to very much. He was surprised to find there was an old maroon Cadillac sitting beside their black Impala. It was an old Cadillac, back from the days when they'd built cars like tanks. Sam was willing to bet, somehow, that the car belonged to Niko. It seemed like it would fit.

Dean sank gingerly into the front seat and sat a moment, gripping the steering wheel. Sam shut the door gently in deference for the ribs.

"Okay?" he asked, anxiously.

"Yeah." Dean straightened, stiffly. He looked pale and Sam grimaced. He was breathing fast.

"Hey, I can drive," Sam volunteered.

"Shut it. I'm alright," Dean replied, and coughed. More blood, frothy this time, and Sam reached over to grab Dean's shoulder.

"Dean..." he started, and felt the tension drop as Dean passed out. "Dean!"

He scrabbled out of the car and shot around to the driver's side. He opened the door, caught Dean, and lowered him to the pavement. He checked Dean's pulse; thumping erratically, and short shallow breaths. His chest was shifting oddly.

A shadow fell over them and Sam flinched, reaching for his gun. He stopped when Niko knelt beside them. He laid his hands oer Dean's chest, and nodded. "Cal. Bring me a bottle of water and a straw. And any tape."

"Uh-huh." Cal nodded, turned faintly green, and headed for the Cadillac.

"What's wrong? The punctured lung?" Sam asked.

"Yes. Pneumothorax." Niko reached over and plucked a paper-wrapped straw from the floor of the Impala. Cal reappeared with the a roll of duct tape and a bottle of water. Before Cal could even open his mouth Niko held up the straw with one hand and whipped Dean's shirt up with the other, baring his chest. "Bring me the alcohol from the trunk."

"Sure thing, General Maximus," Cal jibed, dryly, and went, after passing the water and tape to Niko.

Niko started pulling off strips of tape and slicing them with a knife he'd pulled from a pocket. Under the grey duster he was wearing solid black, turtleneck and jeans. He stuck the strips of tape by the edges to his knee, then slipped the knife away so quickly Sam couldn't find it after. Sam watched with puzzled anxiety. "What're you--"

"I'm helping. From the way his chest is shifting, and the deviation of the trachea, he has a collapsed lung and a tension pneumothorax." Niko raised a cool eyebrow. "Do I need to explain that?"

"Well, no, but--" Sam knew what that meant, at least, and it all spelled out a hospital visit.

"I am about to perform emergency measures to restore his chest capacity." Niko held out a hand and Cal, who had ghosted up behind them, handed over the bottle of rubbing alcohol. Niko passed him the water bottle. "Cut a hole in the lid, just big enough for the straw, and a second for pressure release," Niko instructed.

Cal made an agreeing noise and crouched down on the pavement. He pulled out a large belt knife and examined the top before starting to carve a hole. Sam was still mystified. "How is that--"

"Shut up and do as he says," Cal grunted. "He's the trauma surgeon."

"Well," Niko demurred, as he doused the straw with alcohol. "I haven't sat for boards." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a plastic baggie with a pair of blue nitrile gloves in it. He skimmed these on, washed the straw again, then reached out and counted his gloved fingertips up Dean's bared ribs, before splashing a swatch of skin with the alcohol as well. "Put your hands on his shoulders. He won't like this," he instructed.

Sam did as told, and his eyes widened when Niko pulled out a long slender stiletto and washed it down with alcohol. "Hang on a minute, what are you--"

Even as the words were in his mouth, Niko very neatly leaned forward and slipped the thin blade between Dean's ribs. Dean arched and grunted and blood welled at the cut and a very thin peculiar hissing sound was heard. Dean gasped in a deeper breath. Niko's face was a mask of concentration as he slipped a gloved finger in the hole, removed the dagger, and slipped the straw in. He taped it down against Dean's skin. "Cal, water."

Cal had just washed the water-bottle with alcohol and he passed it over. Niko inserted the straw into the hole carved in the top, and taped it down, leaving the other hole uncovered. Dean took a breath, and bubbles emerged from the straw into the water, along with a thin stream of blood. Niko nodded.

"That will do. He should recover quickly, within a few weeks, particularly if he gets appropriate medical treatment promptly." Niko felt along Dean's ribs again before sitting back on his heels. He stripped off the blood-smeared gloves.

Sirens. Cal's head went up."I think we should leave," he declared, casually.

"Astute of you. Door." Niko nodded with his head, and Cal got to his feet. He moved with a sleek economy of motion, something predatory in it that prickled down Sam's spine. Cal opened the back door of the Impala, and Niko shifted to hold the water-bottle and slipped his other arm under Dean's knees. He nodded to Sam. "On three."

Sam found himself loading Dean into the backseat and realized he'd never asked for the help nor agreed to it and wondered when Niko had taken complete control of the situation. "When you take him to the hospital, I presume you have an appropriate cover story?" Niko queried.

"Uh, yeah. I'll think of something. Probably use the mugger one," Sam responded, without thinking. He watched Niko settle the bottle of water very carefully between Dean and the seat's back. "Um, thank you..."

"You're welcome. Be more careful next time," Niko admonished, the scolding tone faint but there, and Sam wondered why he felt as guilty as if Dean had just snapped at him.

Dean chose this moment to start coming around, and not very gently either. Sam yelped and pressed his shoulders down, while Niko snapped a hand over the straw and bottle contraption to hold it steady.

"Niko..." Cal called, warningly.

"Change in plans. Can you drive?" Niko called.

"Yeah."

"Follow us. Sam, you'll have to sit in the floor and keep him calm. Give me the keys." Niko held out his hand, and after only a moment's hesitation, Sam fished in Dean's jacket pocket and pulled out the Impala's keys. He handed them over. He knew he probably shouldn't be trusting these strangers, but Niko had helped Dean and there was just something about him that made Sam want to trust him.

Cal reached an arm around and fished in an inner pocket of Niko's coat, extracted a pair of keys, and trotted off towards the Cadillac. Niko shut the Impala's back door and slid into front seat. The engine starting was a familiar rumble and Sam wedged himself between the seats, crouched in the floor and holding the straw-and-bottle steady with one hand. It was an awkward position but Sam couldn't think of another way. "Hey, hey, Dean, chill out, okay, it's alright, we're getting you help."

Dean's eyes flickered open, briefly, and he grabbed at Sam's wrist, before stilling again. The bottle was bubbling steadily, and the water had taken on a pinkish stain. Sam braced himself harder as Niko took the Impala around a turn. Sam muttered nonsense and watched as Dean became more coherent and aware with every passing minute. It suddenly occurred to Sam that Dean was going to be _pissed_ that Sam had let some stranger drive his baby.....

The car halted and Sam heard the familiar clicking of the gearshift over to park. He lifted his head and saw they were at the hospital. He started to thank Niko but the door was open, the driver's seat was empty, and there was an ancient maroon Cadillac peeling out of the ER loading area at a rate that definitely wasn't complying with the speed limit.

"Sammy, what the--ow!" Dean groaned.

"Hey, you just be still and let me go get the nurses...." Sam ordered, un-wedging himself from between the seats.

* * *

Sam had been right - Dean had been pissed. He'd given Sam down the road for letting a complete stranger drive his car, drive _them_ anywhere. Nevermind Niko had actually taken them to the hospital and had performed an efficient fix of Dean's pneomothroax that had impressed the ER doctors with its ingenuity. No, the fact of the matter remained that he was a _stranger_ and could have hurt Dean's precious car. Or been a demon in disguise.

Sam nursed his coffee and watched the rain fall outside the awning of their seedy little hotel. He watched the traffic and the never-ending hustle of people. He was taking a break from Dean and Dean's grumping, and Dean was...who knew, probably sleeping up in their room. Or doing things Sam didn't want to think about. So he was out here with bad coffee and the winter damp creeping up his ankles.

"You guys are still here?" The smoky-velvet voice wrapped around biting sarcasm and general ill-will at the world made Sam jump. He looked over and saw the man from the other day. Cal, with the pale skin and jet-black hair. He was scowling, but there wasn't outright hostility in his grey eyes. He stood under the awning in a lazy slouch, watching Sam. His face was narrow, more refined in skeletal structure than Niko's was, his nose narrow and lightly upturned at the end.

"Yeah. Didn't think staying a little while would hurt," Sam answered back, warily. "Um. Thanks for your help, the other day."

Cal sneered. "Oh, I'd have let you fuck up all on your own. Niko's the one who said we should help."

Well then. Sam shifted a little, uneasy. Still no outright aggression but there was something about this man that was pinging his instincts. "Well, perhaps you could thank--" He stopped, because Niko himself, carrying a wide black umbrella, stepped under the awning at just that moment. Somehow Sam hadn't seen him coming. Sam blinked, then offered a smile. "Ah, I was just telling Cal I wanted to thank you for your help, the other day."

Niko gravely closed his umbrella and shook it out, moving to stand right behind Cal. He was a tall man, almost as tall as Sam - Sam still had a few inches on him, though. "You're welcome. Do not count on it again, however. Help is rarely available in need, especially in this city."

"Ah...yeah...." Sam felt distinctly scolded again, somehow. He wasn't sure how - Niko's tone had been calm and serene. "Thanks anyway."

Niko nodded, and Cal slouched, watching the crowds. "You should not stay long. The Kin have taken notice of you. The Alpha of this area has taken a dislike to you."

It sounded almost like code. Sam was lost. "The...kin?"

Cal rolled his eyes. "How stupid are you? The werewolves, idiot. You've pissed them off. Congrats, watch out for your asses."

Niko lifted a hand so swiftly Sam barely saw it, and caught Cal across the back of the head with an open palm. Cal's head swayed to the blow and he scowled deeply, hunching into his leather jacket. He did not attempt to retaliate or protest. Sam vaguely recalled a time in his life when he'd bowed so meekly to Dean's every word and reprimand. Obviously Niko was an older brother, and a good man, and Sam supposed he was unconsciously recognizing that. It was the only thing he could think of, for how he'd reacted the other day. Well, that and his worry for Dean.

Dean himself came out the door on the heels of that thought, as if summoned. He looked between Sam and the two brothers. "Well. Having a chat with your new friends?" Dean drawled, moving closer to Sam. There was more wariness in his gaze, and both brothers instantly tracked him; Sam wasn't sure if he was insulted or flattered to be dismissed as a threat.

"Sorta. I was thanking them. They said we've ticked off the local werewolves...I didn't know there was a pack in this area," Sam confessed, lowly.

"I didn't think there were _any_. Maybe they're lying," Dean hissed.

"And what would be the point in that? Niko asked, archly, and the Winchesters jumped, startled. They looked at him with caution.

"You've got good ears," Dean grudgingly admitted.

Niko's smile was tiny, brief, and serene. He said nothing and Dean scowled. Sam bit at his lip and sipped his coffee. That was a good way to get Dean mad, stubborn, and uncooperative. Cal lifted his head suddenly, lips slightly parted, chin tilting up. He slouched back into sudden unconcern again. Niko turned a patient look on him, which Cal ignored until Niko nudged him with an elbow.

"Cal."

Cal grunted. "He's sick."

Sam blinked, and so did Dean. They looked at one another. "The hell?" Dean asked. What're trying to say, punk?"

"Take your antibiotics, bastard," Cal sneered, lips curling, and something in his gaze turned eager.

The implications of that hit Sam and he turned to Dean and reached up to put a hand on his forehead. Dean blocked him and scowled, then turned to the brothers. "Fuck off, freak. Take your guessing games somewhere else. I'm fine."

Cal grinned.

It was brief, only a few seconds, but something about it made both the Winchesters step back, reach for their guns. Sam felt his heart start to pound, spiked by adrenaline. That was _not_.... "Monster," Dean breathed, and his face hardened, reaching to draw his gun despite the people all around them. Sam reached to stop him but his eyes stayed fixed on Cal, who was slouching again but watching with the peculiar eagerness in his grey eyes. Waiting for them to fight.

Niko's hand clamped on Cal's shoulder and the grey eyes shuttered. Cal looked up at Niko, and scowled petulantly like a scolded child. "Hell, what do I care if you get pneumonia? C'mon, Nik, let's go," Cal whined, carelessly, bored.

"Indeed," said Niko, and the calm serenity was gone, replaced by a steely tone and an aura of _protectiveness_ that made Sam's spine prickle. The blonde's grey eyes were cold and ruthless. "My brother," he said softly, crisply, "is not a monster. Do not call him that again."

"The hell he's not," Dean snarled, and the cold grey eyes turned downright arctic. Dean hesitated.

"Do not," said Niko, even quieter, "call him that again."

Cal shifted under Niko's hand, then subsided. Sam had to look down after a moment, away from the intense stare. And...so did Dean, after a moment. It wasn't demonic power, it wasn't something uncanny, it was this man's sheer presence and authority. A man like their father, Sam realized, a man with a cause you did not cross if you valued your life. After a moment, Dean glanced up grumpily, almost furtively, a scowl on his face, but he said nothing else. Sam realized somewhere along the way he'd dropped his coffee.

Niko nodded, and opened his umbrella. Cal cast the Winchesters one last glance, then turned. The brothers walked away under the big black umbrella, and neither Sam nor Dean made a move to stop them.

When the umbrella turned the corner, Sam took a deep breath. That had been one of the more freaky things to happen.... He looked at Dean, who ran a hand over his face. "I don't know why I didn't shoot him," Dean muttered.

"We would have attracted attention," Sam answered, pushing against Dean a little to make him go inside. Sam felt unsettled, too out in the open. "Let's go in."

Dean nodded, and moved, looking down in surprise when he kicked Sam's discarded coffee-cup.

They didn't speak again until they were inside. Sam shucked off his jacket. Dean sat on the bed and coughed, a little, pressing a hand over his healing ribs. Sam went to his laptop and booted it up. He needed to see about rumors of werewolves in the area....

A sudden expletive from Dean made Sam swing around in alarm. Dean was shaking his head. "I haven't been stared down like that...since..."

"...since Dad," Sam finished, and looked down at his feet. "I know."

* * *

Cal served the werewolf and moved away from the bar. He smelled Niko and swung around, making a beeline for his brother. Niko was just seating himself at his usual table. Cal scooped up a rag as he passed and wiped the table down.

"Tea, and the fillet mignon," Niko declared, blandly.

Cal snorted at the teasing. "Tea and crackers it is." He hesitated. "Did they leave?"

"They did. It seems they were smarter than you gave them credit for." Niko raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, so I was wrong." Cal shrugged, and went to get Niko's tea. He wasn't concerned with a pair of idiots or whether or not the Kin had their revenge. If they were stupid enough to think the sword-cuts on the body had come from a pair of gun-wielding brothers....

Niko was quietly brooding when Cal returned. "I have not turned up much on the term 'hunters,' " he confessed.

"Ask Ish. I think he knows something, but he's sure as hell not telling me," Cal retorted, and set the tea on the table. He had a soda, himself, and set a bowl of pretzels between them. As far as bar food went, the stuff in the Ninth Circle was at least edible. It was more than could be said for the other dives Cal had worked in before.

Niko raised an eyebrow. He turned to look at the peri at the bar. Ishiah ignored him for a full ten minutes, then came stalking over to point at Cal. "I pay you to work, not sit on your ass. Heaven only knows you might scare off fewer clients this way," he grumbled.

"Ishiah, what can you tell me about hunters?" Niko asked, calmly. "Particularly about a pair of brothers, who drive a black '67 Impala. Sam and Dean are their names."

Ishiah's pale blonde eyebrows jumped, and his wings appeared, flaring before tucking close. Gold-barred white feathers drifted across the table. Niko grimaced faintly and plucked one from his tea. "That it's a damn good thing they've left town," the peri answered. "The armies of Heaven and Hell are taking too much of an interest in them, and we do not need that kind of trouble here."

Niko and Cal exchanged puzzled looks; well, Cal's was puzzled, Niko's mildly intrigued. "Hunters?" he pressed, mildly.

"Hunters do what you do, all over the country. Some with less discrimination and tolerance. And stay the hell away from the Winchesters, Sam and Dean. If you want to know more, go talk to Ren down at the Blue Angel Den, but don't tell him I sent you. In fact, don't take Cal either." Ishiah scowled. "Better still, don't ask at all. You don't want to get mixed up in what's brewing."

Cal snorted. "Hell, Ish, we've only saved the world twice."

"We have enough troubles on our own," Niko murmured. "Perhaps we should stay out of this."

Cal shrugged, and drained the last of his coke. He stood up. "Okay, boss-man, I'm back to work," he grumbled, heading back to the bar.

Ishiah watched him go, then looked to Niko. The peri's voice lowered, even as his wings vanished. "I mean it. Keep Cal out of it. Hunters won't stand for him, and they won't stand for you once they know you protect him."

Niko nodded. "Thank you, Ish."

Ishiah shook his blonde head, paler than Niko's, and turned away.

Niko mentally mapped out the way to the Blue Angel Den and sipped his tea.

**Author's Note:**

> This is how it goes because I refuse to believe Niko's Glare of Doom cannot quell even the likes of Dean Winchester. Also I have only watched the first season of Supernatural, sorry, my grasp on the Winchester's characterization is not very firm. (What is time to watch a TV show in this day and age?) One day I'll get around to the rest of it. 
> 
> Niko's fix to Dean's lung is, in fact, workable field medicine, but only by an actual doctor (of which Niko isn't exactly), and has been done before. But please don't try it at home! Let your medical conditions be handled by the people who actually went to school for it, please and thank you.
> 
> I had actually forgotten I wrote this....


End file.
